


Losing my Footing

by YouThinkYouKnowMe



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouThinkYouKnowMe/pseuds/YouThinkYouKnowMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As newcomer to the WWE, Mel - also known as Warrior-, lands smack in the middle of the greatest real-life drama the WWE has ever known.<br/>The insane rivalry between WWE Superstar Edge and his adversary Matt Hardy is in full swing. It doesn't look like dwindling down soon either. Mel, who immediately notices the tenseness in the locker rooms and the toll the public spectacle has taken on all three involved parties, enters the scene just as shit is really going to go down.<br/>Edge has handed in his resignation, Lita is being threatened and Matt is in real danger of ruining his wrestling career for good.<br/>It's time things changed, and Mel herself might just be the breath of fresh British air the WWE needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing my Footing

The doors are standing wide open as I exit the taxicab and turn towards the WWE training facility. Its shining walls and gleaming windows blink and wink at me. It looks oddly clinical from where I’m standing. The entire building seems out of place here in the deep dense woods of upstate New York. I sling the heavy bag over my shoulder and reach in the boot of the car to fish out my suitcase. The cabbie, who has obviously realized what I’m here for, doesn’t get out to offer me a hand. It’s always a good feeling to be able to get your muscles working after a lengthy period of inactivity, and it’s no different now. Heaving the heavy luggage along with me gets the blood flowing again. The flight to the USA had been long and grueling. It had taken ages to get through security even with the WWE representative there to help me. I’d stayed in a hotel for the night and then called a long-distance taxi for the four hour drive upstate. I’d have driven myself but I saw it as an opportunity to admire the landscape. The wilderness that still covers this part of the USA is absolutely breathtaking, and as we had climbed up into the mountains I settled back into my skin after a lengthy period of indecisiveness, uncertainty and hope.

Finally, now, standing on the doorstep of my debut on the big screen of wrestling, the adrenalin seems to leave my system. I heave a great sigh and swipe my long hair out of my face. The open doors stare at me invitingly. Another deep breath spells the beginning of a new adventure, and I walk on.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The contract signing is brief and to the point. I’m told to think on a name by the general managers of the two teams that make up the WWE roster: SmackDown and Raw. I’m drafted to SmackDown, where I will make my debut in approximately three weeks. The time before then will be spent training and getting ready. They also still have to think of a storyline for the character I will be portraying.

“You’re going to feel right at home, I’m sure.” Eric Bishoff says as he shakes my hand and leads the way back into the corridor from the fancy room we’d been having the meeting in. I give the owner of the business, Vince McMahon a decent nod before following “my” manager out into the hallway.

“I’ll show you to your room. It’s all the way behind the compound. This place is mostly just the office, the training facilities are ways back.” He gestures with his hand towards the south, indeed the opposite direction of the entrance. As I follow, I see lots of faces. Some of them I recognize but most I don’t.

“You’ll meet most of them when we get there, don’t worry. We’re not going to leave you on an island by yourself.” He winks at me in a most disgusting way. “Even if you’re British.”

I raise one eyebrow and decide then and there I don’t much like Mr. Bishoff. Best not to antagonize the boss though, so I wipe my face clean of expressions and offer a tiny smile instead.

Bishoff is right though, as soon as we exit the main building and cross the big grassy field to something that looks like a four-times oversized wooden farmhouse I spot the first familiar face. It’s John Cena, running a lap around the field with his big feet slapping on the concrete that surrounds it.

I do a double take. I’ve seen the on-and-off champion only once before, and that was when I was part of the British division when they took on the women of WWE. It had only been a glimpse in the distance, but he is unmistakable at any distance. He slows to a halt in front of the entrance we’re approaching and looks up. His chest heaves with great big gulps of breath. Wrestlers are horrible at endurance training. Most of them prefer to do weightlifting and cardio. Running is definitely not their forte.

“Goodmorning, Bishoff.” He says between breaths. “All okay?”

It is obvious Bishoff doesn’t approach this part of the complex often by how John immediately gets defensive. He looks apprehensive. Is Bishoff usually the bearer of bad news?

“No, no, all is well, John. I’m just here to introduce the newest member of our roster.” Bishoff says.

I take my cue and step forward, hand extended and a smile firmly in place on my face. I admire John and his wrestling, I always have, and seeing him in the flesh is like a dream come true.

“Hi,” I say. He grasps my hand in his, which is warm and slightly sweaty. “I’m Mel.”

“Hey, Mel. It’s nice to meet you. You SmackDown or Raw?”

“SmackDown, I do believe.” I say.

He grins a goofy grin. “You’re from England?”

I’m taken so much by surprise that I throw my head and laugh. “Yes, Sherlock, well done!”

“That’s new.” John says with another grin. “It’s usually only Canadians, Americans and Mexicans here. Usually.”

“Yes,” I say, “Except for Sheamus, the Great Khali and others.”

John crosses his arms over his massive chest. “Well, a breath of fresh air you are.” He says, and then with another smile to take the bite out of his words, he excuses himself. Bishoff had remained silent throughout the conversation, but now shakes himself out of his stupor and leads the way into the wooden building.

The vaulted ceilings are high and make the rooms seem insanely spacious. Light filters in from everywhere. The great hall directly behind the entrance is filled with a bar, big tables, comfy chairs and a pool table. Stacked away in the corner is a chess board. I file that bit of information away for later.

“I’ll show you your room and then leave you to it. Training starts tomorrow. You’re expected in the practice ring at eight.”

I nod and follow him into a hallway leading away from the main hall. We pass the kitchens and the broad corridor which to the gym and practice rings and stop in front of a heavy wooden door.

“This is you. Make yourself at home, I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

I nod my goodbye and enter the room. It’s big, airy and cozy at the same time. I dump my dufflebag and suitcase by the foot of the bed and sink into the lone chair that sits by the huge windows. This room is almost three times bigger than my place in London was.

I feel pretty good, leaning back like this until my vertebrae creak and crack and settle perfectly into place. I’m not tired, nor too excited. It feels good to be here, like I’ve found my spot.

“Well, there we are,” I say to the empty space around me. Kicking off my boots, I yank the flimsy white see-through curtain away from the windows and look down.

My heart stops.

There, on the field behind the entire complex, a few meters away from the big swimming pool, sit two people. They’re hunched close together as if discussing secrets, and I immediately recognize them both. My heart hammers in my throat, one pace behind the short gasps of my breath. I didn’t think I’d see him so soon.

It’s Edge. It’s my all-time favourite wrestler sitting there. His long blond hair shines in the afternoon sunlight, and even though there are sunglasses shading his eyes I imagine I can almost see the blue-grey-green of his eyes.

He is the last person I had expected to see here.

I duck behind the curtain so that I’m not revealed by the huge windows of my “room”. My fingers are inexplicably shaking madly.

Edge, or Adam Copeland, is mostly the reason I wanted to be drafted over to the WWE. He’s my favourite wrestler in every way. A good character, a good fight, a good soul. I’d watched him for a few years in my time in England and I’d always been struck by the way he grasped every chance, took every dive and in that way won every championship that was possibly winnable.

The man sitting there on the picknick-bench, hunched over with his hands in his hair in an outward sign of desperation, that is not the man everyone sees on TV.

He’s talking to Lita, his real-life and storyline girlfriend. They don’t look too happy with each other though. I don’t think there’s any raised voices, but the frustration is clearly readable in the lines of both their bodies. Lita’s, tiny and voluptuous, Edge’s, strong and tall. They’re both larger than life on screen, but today they look defeated. Edge pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and further up towards his hairline. Even from here I can see he looks drawn. If not for his massive frame, I would think he’d lost weight since his last televised match. But seeing as I’ve not been able to watch WWE in the last few weeks due to a hectic schedule and last-minute plans, I might have simply missed this last development in the drama that’s been unfolding.

The sun dips below the trees with one last flare. The light unexpectedly catches in the face of the watch on my left wrist. The flash this produces draws Edge’s attention towards the building.

His eyes climb up the walls, and I briefly contemplate ducking away. The movement would betray me immediately- so I don’t move. I stay rooted to the spot and his gaze, so very green today, lock on mine.

A shot of something intoxicating shoots down my spine. I can’t believe he’s here, at the facility. I can’t believe he’s so close, only a few meters away. But most of all, I can’t believe he’s just caught me staring at him. My face heats up and I fervently hope that the glaring light of the setting sun obscures most of my face. It seems luck is not on my side though, because Edge keeps looking, blinks slowly, once, twice. I swallow past the lump in my throat and manage to give him something that hopefully amounts to an encouraging smile before turning away.

I collapse on the bed in a pile of heated misery.


End file.
